Oh Thank God, It’s the Flu!

That was my reaction today at the doctor’s upon hearing that she wasn’t going to have to do a throat culture because it didn’t look like strep — it looked like the flu.

 

Let’s take a step back, shall we? See, I know what having strep throat feels like. I’m something of an expert in it. I also know when I have a sinus infection (and thus a sinus headache versus a migraine) instead of allergies. And, I can generally tell a flu from a cold, strep, sinusitis, or bronchitis. When it comes to self-diagnosing those, I’m about a 9 out of 10.

 

But good God, when it’s strep…oh, I start praying to every deity in history that I’m wrong. I have to take strep seriously. It’s one of the few things that can result in me going from “I dun feel so good” to “Oh, hey God. Nice place ya got here…” in less than 24 hours. I can muck around with sinusitis, sinus headaches, allergies, and bronchitis (to some extent) but the minute I suspect I have strep, I’m off to the doctor.

 

See, when I was a kid (probably 5 or 6 years old), I had strep almost constantly for a year or two (I don’t remember clearly — Mom, care to clarify, here?) I swear that it was every couple of weeks I was in my doctor’s office having a tongue depressor shoved down my mouth and a throat swab being done followed shortly thereafter by being told to lay on my stomach while they gave me a shot of penicillin in my hip. Eventually, they figured out that I wasn’t picking it up from other kids — colonies of streptococcal bacteria were happily living it up in my tonsils. I can’t remember if I actually had tonsillitis or not but they decided to remove my tonsils because there was a very high risk of me developing rheumatic fever (or scarlet fever, not sure which) due to the constant re-infections if my tonsils weren’t taken out. Whatever fever it was, it’s the one that can give you heart problems. Since I was still just barely into elementary (primary) school, they didn’t want to risk that. So, I had my tonsils and adenoids removed (which apparently helped with my snoring for a few years) and, after that, I’ve only had strep throat three times. Once when I was sixteen, once when I was in France, and once this past year because someone with strep came to the office and I’m practically a beacon for that particular infection.

 

Aside from the headache, the vomiting, the spiking fever, and the general “Christ, I feel bad” of strep, there’s another reason I dread having it. The throat culture.

 

I remember being a little kid and freaking out. The tongue depressor always felt like it was gagging me and made me want to throw up. I had trouble breathing. And the scrapping on the back of my tongue/top of my throat hurt. I swear I could feel it for the rest of the day afterwards. Even now, I have a pretty sensitive gag reflex (I’ve had popcorn kernels get on the back part of my tongue — not even *near* my throat — and I’ve puked because of it). And, even though I know they need to do the culture to be certain I’m getting the right treatment and all, I cannot override my panic switch. The minute they get that super-long Qtip out, that’s it. My adrenaline kicks in and my reason goes right out the window. I can sit there and close my eyes and tell myself “it won’t be long, it’s quick. It’ll be over soon. Don’t freak out. Just breathe. It’ll take longer to count to three than to have this done,” and my body is like “Fuck you. We’re going to freak out.” They now have to give me a mild sedative and restrain me when they want a throat culture. And the whole time, I’m fighting them (even though my brain knows the reasons, my body can’t quite agree to a truce on this). It was even worse when I was in France and could barely speak French and the poor doctor didn’t know what to make of this American who was crying and shaking and jerking until she finally understood me saying she would need a couple of big men in there to hold me in place.

 

It’s not only bad enough to deal with the panic (even though I know there’s no reason to panic), the humiliation of having that reaction and the embarrassment of being an adult and not able to control my reaction? That’s just adding fuel to the fire.

 

So, if I’m ever a patient of yours and you have to do a throat culture on me, please understand when I tell you up front that you will have to sedate me and restrain me. Don’t argue with me that I can reason it out — I can’t. I’ve tried. I’ve tried every trick in the book including meditation. I could finally get myself not to flip out over having a medical person behind me to give me a shot in the hip (I have a *serious* thing about letting people stand behind me where I can’t watch them) but I can’t get over this. It’s too deeply ingrained, I think. Yes, I realize that each forced sedation and restraint makes the next reaction worse. I also realize that this is one of those few things I just can’t be rational about no matter how much I wish I could be. And, to that one nurse practitioner I hit last year — I’m still really sorry and really embarrassed about that incident and I’m glad you liked the flowers I sent you to apologize.

 

Now, please God, tell me I’m not the only adult on this planet who freaks the fuck out over something silly. My ego could use the boost.

 

— G.K.